That melancholy mortals
Will count their mercies o'er,
And learn that Truth and wisdom
Have many items more;
That when a wrong is done us,
It stirs no thought of strife;
And Love becomes the substance,
As item, of our life;
That every ragged urchin,
With bare feet soiled or sore,
Share God's most tender mercies,—
Find items at our door.
Then if we've done to others
Some good ne'er told before,
When angels shall repeat it,
'Twill be an item more.
DEDICATION OF A TEMPERANCE HALL
A temple, whose high dome
Rose from a water-cup;
And from its altar to Thy throne
May we press on and up!
And she—last at the cross,
First at the tomb, who waits—
Woman—will watch to cleanse from dross
The cause she elevates.